The Final Solution
by AnnaGandalf
Summary: Sentiment was a weakness, it made fools of men and soon, it would lead to his death. My take on what happened in the Reichenbach Falls episode. Please read and review...
1. Chapter 1

**A/N This is my fanfiction, please read and review. All rights to Arthur Conan Doyle, Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss, all geniuses in my opinion. Please read and review...**

The Final Solution

Chapter 1

He had to die. He knew he was right, he and Moriarty were so alike, he knew exactly what he was dealing with. Even if Moriarty began one step ahead Sherlock would always catch up, because he knew how Moriarty's mind worked, just like his own. It was the only logical ending to this game, 'The Final Problem' as Moriarty had put it, he must die in disgrace, killing himself would confirm the doubts that had been sown in peoples minds over the past twenty four hours. But how? How could Moriarty make him do it, the answer hit him before he even finished the thought.

John. Mrs Hudson. Lestrade.

The ones that mattered, the people he almost considered friends, threaten them and he would do anything. This was exactly why sentiment was a weakness, it made fools of men and soon, it would lead to his death.

This realisation hit Sherlock in only seconds, standing outside of Kitty's house he stopped, thinking. John was talking to him, well, more like at him he wasn't paying attention. He was thinking, thinking, there must be some way to prevent this, but Moriarty, the ever so meticulous consulting criminal, had contacts all over the globe, in every police force, every government. His friends would never be safe, not while he and Moriarty still lived.

Every possibility, every possible decision or consequence was running through his mind, cycling around his head and John was still talking, still rambling on about some insignificant detail. Detail, that was it, it was all in the detail. He had to kill himself, or at least appear to. Moriarty would want it to be public, witnessed, he'd want as many people as possible to see the ultimate downfall of the mighty Sherlock Holmes, but was there a way he could fake his own death. He'd need help from someone, but all of his friends, all of the people he first thought of were in danger. Then he realised, when it came down to it he and Moriarty were the same and that fact is what he would need to exploit. To beat Moriarty he would have to think like someone else, consider what he wouldn't normally consider, do what he wouldn't normally do. Molly, he hadn't originally contemplated Molly, so neither would have Moriarty.

"Sherlock?" John was asking him something, but it couldn't be as important as the thought process occupying his brain currently.

"There's something I need to do." he replied, not an answer to the unheard question, just a statement, the facts. He turned to leave.

"What? Can I help you?" John Watson, his flatmate, his friend, always willing to help, but not this time, never again.

"No, on my own." With that he left, strode away still considering solutions, searching for the answers that must be locked somewhere inside his brain, they always were, surely this time wouldn't be different.

The cab ride to St Bart's had been insightful, over 800 possible answers had whizzed through his head all vetoed for some reason, some flaw. As he approached the hospital one potential idea formed, it could work Sherlock thought, but he would have to work quickly, he'd have to get Molly on side. For perhaps the first time in his life he would have to trust someone completely, but first he'd have to find out if she trusted him. Sherlock had always known Molly was attracted to him, the elevated pulse and reddening of the neck textbook signs. Honestly he had never thought of Molly that way, but then again he never thought of anyone that way. However since he'd met John he had developed as a person, for the first time there were people he cared about, people he would die for and although he didn't make it obvious Molly was one of them. He could only hope she hadn't seen the papers yet, there was a small possibility that she would believe them and then she would blame him for the whole 'Jim from IT' incident. Sherlock had never asked Molly about the relationship she'd had with the international criminal, but feelings weren't his area of expertise and, to be honest, he'd never thought to ask.

He entered the lab and found it dark and seemingly empty, but signs showed she had not yet left for the day. A half empty pack of crisps, some notes left unfiled and most obvious of all the sound of her footsteps approaching. He waited for her to reach the room, she was just passing through it seemed so he spoke up from where he'd been lingering in the shadows.

"You're wrong you know," Molly gasped and span around, shocked by the sudden interruption to her solitary thoughts, "you do count, you've always counted and I've always trusted you." For once he was saying what he was thinking not just assuming everyone kept up with his train of thought. "But you were right," he admitted, "I'm not okay."

Still slightly breathless form the shock he had given her Molly took a step towards him "Tell me what's wrong."

"Molly," he looked her straight in the eye "I think I'm going to die."

"What do you need?" She replied immediately, Sherlock was confused, why didn't she question him, attempt to find out more.

"If I wasn't everything that you think I am, everything that I think I am. Would you still help me?" For some reason he wanted to warn her off, scare her away, maybe even keep her safe.

"What do you need?" She replied again, still with no hesitation. This was it he decided, time to be honest and after a pregnant pause he answered.

"You."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N This is my first fanfiction, please read and review. All rights to Arthur Conan Doyle, Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss, all geniuses in my opinion. Please read and review...**

The Final Solution

Chapter 2

Eyes still connected Molly took another step forward.

"Why me? Why not John or Lestrade or hell, why not Donovan?"

Sherlock curtly replied. "I need you because you're ordinary, because you're nothing special." At this Molly turned and he thought he heard a stifled sob. Still refusing to look at him she spoke quietly.

"You're telling me you need me because I'm nothing. That makes no sense."

Sherlock leapt towards her, a manic grin on his face, "Precisely Molly, you've got in one. You're not the person I would chose if I was still thinking like myself, behaving normally." He gently turned her towards him, "That's why you're perfect, choosing you to help me was erratic, impulsive and he'll never expect it." His voice lowered "Please Molly, I need you."

At this Molly looked up, again he was telling her he needed her, the great Sherlock Holmes, the genius detective, needed her. "Okay, " she hesitantly agreed "What can I do?" Again Sherlock was surprised, twice in one night, in less than ten minutes Molly Hooper had done something he hadn't expected. She may have surprised him but still he realised, something had changed in Molly, she used to be so obvious, one glance and he knew everything, but now she was so protective, so closed to the world. Sherlock wasn't great with feelings but he knew it was because of Moriarty, the tricks and the lies, he had changed her. For some unknown reason Sherlock felt guilty, was Molly targeted because of him, was it his presence that had caused Moriarty to chose her and not some other pathologist.

"Thank you Molly."He said but felt it wasn't enough, he was sure she still didn't realise just how much she was helping him tonight. He wanted to show his appreciation properly so slowly leaned towards her, ensuring no other parts of their bodies were touching, he gently pressed his lips to her cheek. "Really, thank you." he breathed. Abruptly he stood up straight and walked off leaving Molly to quickly regain her senses and hurry to follow him.

He explained everything to her, talking as he worked. Sherlock had retrieved some of his old experiments, the ones that had needed more specialist equipment, most people would it think it was lucky as 221B would surely still be swarming with Scotland Yard. But Sherlock didn't believe in luck, he believed in coincidence and brain power and he knew if he covered every base he would survive. When he finished explaining Moriarty's plan Molly finally spoke up.

"How, how will you survive?" Sherlock paused, he so often forgot that everyone wasn't as smart as he was, he almost made a remark but quickly stopped himself, he wasn't meant to be being himself.

"If I promise to explain later can you just trust me for now Molly?" he asked. Hoping she'd agree, if he was being honest with himself he knew his survival wasn't certain, there were too many uncontrollable variables. He knew he had to try, but also knew if something didn't go to plan he would not hesitate to throw himself off the roof to save his friends. But Molly, sweet innocent Molly would not be able to cope with the harsh reality, so he would not tell her, he would try to protect her in this small way and maybe he could start to make up for failing to protect her from Moriarty in the beginning.

"If you promise to tell me later, that means you promise to survive, otherwise you would not be able to tell me later." She clarified, it was a weird train of logic, but in some ways it made perfect sense, he nodded and turned back to his preparations.

John came and went, called away by a friend of Molly's pretending to be a paramedic. It would not take him long to realise he'd been had, Sherlock knew he would be back soon and then it would be over. Nothing would be the same again. He tidied his belongings, leaving no trace that he had been there and headed for the roof. Now it was time for the game to really begin.

Moriarty was already there, a sweeping glance confirmed Sherlock's suspicions, they were alone and Moriarty was armed. He already knew the conversation they would have and acted suitably shocked when Moriarty revealed the computer code was a fake, of course it was, a short string of digits couldn't possibly wield that sort of power, that control. Time ticked on as Moriarty explained the necessity of Sherlock's suicide to save his friends, child's play Sherlock thought, had he really ever thought Moriarty was anything special.

Sherlock stepped up onto the ledge and looked down, everything was in place, there was a risk it wouldn't work, but either way his friends would live, the question was whether he would too. Then something Moriarty said caught his attention "Your death is the only thing that can call off the killers, I'm certainly not going to do it." Had Moriarty really been so dense, there was another way out, one that was risk free. Laughing to himself he turned around and hopped off the ledge.

"What? What is it?" Moriarty was panicking, he was sure he had won, finally beaten Sherlock Holmes, the one person who ever stood a chance against him. "What did I miss?"

"You're not going to do it? So the killers can be called off then, there's a recall code or a word or a number. I don't have to die if I've got you."

"Oh. You think you can make me stop the order, you think you can make me do that."

"Yes, so do you." He stepped towards Moriarty, closing the gap, blocking any chance of escape.

"Sherlock, your big brother and all the King's horses couldn't make me do a thing I didn't want to."

"Yes, but I'm not my brother remember. I am you, prepared to do anything, prepared to burn, prepared to do things other people won't do. You want me to shake hands with you in hell, I shall not disappoint you." As he spoke them Sherlock knew the words were true.

"Nah, you talk big but nah. You're ordinary, you're ordinary, you're on the side of the angels."

"I may be on the the side of the angels, but don't think for one second that I am one of them."

Moriarty paused, and a sudden realisation dawned on his manic features. "No. You're not. I see, you're not ordinary, no, you're me. You're me. Thank you Sherlock Holmes." He stepped forward and shook a bemused Sherlock's hand. "Thank you. Bless you. As long as I'm alive you can save your friends, you've got a way out. Well good luck with that." Quick as a flash he pulled the gun Sherlock knew he had and placed it in his mouth. With one simple move the trigger was pulled and his brain was blown apart.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N This is my first fanfiction, please read and review. All rights to Arthur Conan Doyle, Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss, all geniuses in my opinion.**

The Final Solution

Chapter 3

"NO!" Sherlock shouted but the roof was devoid of life bar him. He had thought the bullet in the gun was meant for him, never had it crossed his mind that Moriarty could take his own life, but then again he was a player to the end. Sherlock would bet the moment of his death was one of the happiest in his life, he had died thinking he had finally beaten Sherlock Holmes, how wrong he'd been. If anything it saved Sherlock a job, no longer would he have to find a way to kill Moriarty, he'd have to revert to his original plan, he would have to jump.

Stepping back up to the roof, Sherlock immediately noticed that John had arrived, stepping out of a cab almost directly beneath him. Pulling his phone from his coat pocket he rang his flatmate, one of only four numbers on his phone. John answered immediately "Hello?"

"John."

"Hey Sherlock, are you okay?" For a split second Sherlock pondered this question, was he okay? He wasn't dying, well probably not, his friends wouldn't die and his enemy was dead.

"Turn round and walk back the way you came." He had to get John to the right point, everything depended on the details, one tiny mistake, one misjudgement and his plan would fail.

John refused, still heading towards the entrance. "No I'm coming in."

"Just do as I ask. Please."

John heard the desperation in his best friend's voice, "Where?" he asked turning around and walking back to where the cab had dropped him off only seconds ago.

"Stop there." Sherlock replied, John was perfectly positioned, for a heartbeat Sherlock wished he could save his friend from this, could get him to leave, but he must stay, John must see him 'die' or he would never accept it. Now he just had to keep him there, it would take just under a minute, he could talk to his friend for that long, surely he could. He did the only thing he that would make John hesitate, he confessed, he admitted to creating Moriarty, to going too far, to trying to show off. Sherlock lied.

The next minute was the longest of Sherlock's life, he knew what he was doing, he had to ruin John's life to save it. Finally enough time had passed. "This phone call, it's my note. It's what people do don't they, leave a note?" This was it, "Goodbye John." He dropped the phone to the floor and paused, just for a nanosecond, he had to calculate this perfectly, his life depended on it. And with that, he stepped off the roof.

John was approaching the hospital again, he knew he had been tricked into leaving, Mrs Hudson was fine. What he wasn't sure of was who tricked him, was it Moriarty trying to get him out of the way or did Sherlock have a complicated plan. As he steeped out of the taxi his phone rang.

"Hello?"

"John."

"Hey Sherlock, are you okay?" It was Sherlock, of course it was, it always was. John had long since accepted that he was at his friend's beck and call and he would remain there for as long as he was needed. John;s life had been nothing after he'd returned from the war, but meeting Sherlock had change everything, life was exciting again.

"Turn round and walk back the way you came." John had only taken a few steps away from the taxi rank.

"No," he refused, "I'm coming in."

"Just do as I ask. Please." Sherlock was almost pleading now, John had never heard his friend sound desperate, he was always do clinical and condescending, something was wrong. Sullenly he complied and turned around and headed back.

"Where?"

"Stop there. Okay look, I'm up on the roof." John looked up and sure enough he could clearly see Sherlock standing on the roof of St Bart's, perilously close to the edge. "I, I, I can't come down so we'll just have to do it like this."

"What's going on?" John didn't understand, what did they have to do.

"An apology, it's all true. Everything they said about me, I invented Moriarty." John tried to interrupt, to make him see sense but Sherlock just cut across him, "I'm a fake." He was lying, John was sure of it, but he was so confused, he couldn't think straight. All of his senses were overloaded, colours and sounds accented, but all he could think about was his friend about to plummet to his death. Sherlock continued explaining, nothing John said deterred him, he was to busy confessing what he claimed to be the truth.

"This phone call, it's my note. It's what people do don't they? Leave a note." John's brain was swimming now, he must be in shock, sleep deprived, everything was so vivid, the wind seemingly whipping around the silhouette of his friend far above him.

"Leave a note when?"

"Goodbye John." There was a click and then… nothing. John glance down, Sherlock had hung up. Looking back up he failed to see his friend and then he noticed it. A falling body. Flailing limbs.

"SHERLOCK!" He shouted as the body disappeared behind the building blocking him from the entrance to the hospital. John thought he even heard the crack of bones against concrete. He tried to run towards the spot his friend must have hit, barely able to think properly, he couldn't nearly run straight. A cyclist appeared from nowhere and knocked John down, not stopping to help the distressed man get back to his feet. John was still shouting, all sights and sounds blurring into one, his only goal to reach his friend. He was a doctor, surely he could help.

As he reached the building he noticed the crowd that had gathered, somewhere, in the recesses of his confused mind he realised what they were staring at.

"I'm a doctor let me come through." He fought against the grappling hands. "Let me come through please," His words were slurred, barely audible, "He's my friend. He's my friend." John tried to reach Sherlock's wrist, aiming to take a pulse, but he was pulled away, dragged through the growing pool of blood emanating from Sherlock;s head. John was scared, absolutely terrified, he wanted to run, to get as far away as possible and for some reason the feeling felt familiar. He sank to his knees as two paramedics took away the body. John knew it was too late, nobody could spill that much blood from a head injury and live. John knew his friend was dead.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N This is my first fanfiction, please read and review. All rights to Arthur Conan Doyle, Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss, all geniuses in my opinion.**

The Final Solution

Chapter 4

Molly did as he asked, she had waited, that was all Sherlock had said, "Wait here." It had been almost an hour when there was a sudden clamouring of voices, Molly sat straight up not knowing what to expect. Sherlock had been particularly vague, obviously thinking her too stupid to understand.

A doctor she didn't recognise burst into the morgue, "Here's one for you Molly, jumped off the roof, dead on impact." Molly gasped, he'd promised her, he'd promised he would survive, but this was Sherlock Holmes, when had he ever cared about feelings, when had he ever cared about anything but himself. Breathing deeply she approached the paramedics.

"Leave him over there, I'll look at him later." Her voice quivered as she tried to be nonchalant, she dealt with dead bodies every day, she had to act professional.

The doctor spoke again, "I think he's going to be a priority, he's Sherlock Holmes, he;s a criminal, a fraud and not he's dead. The press will have a field day." Molly nodded, they were right about the last part, Moriarty's plan had worked. Sherlock had died in disgrace, never having the chance to clear his name. The others left leaving her alone with him, with his body she corrected herself.

Walking over to him she looked down upon his bloodied face, it was alright, she felt a pang of sadness. But then in hit her, if she could prove it wasn't suicide, that it was Moriarty, she could set the record straight and clear his name. She could get Moriarty arrested, she could finally feel safe again. With that she got to work, pulling on a pair of latex gloves she removed Sherlock's coat. Molly tried to convince herself it was just another body, nothing special, no-one special, she just had to do her job and find out what had happened.

As she removed his trousers she noticed a small in hole in the left thigh, looking at his she saw it, a small puncture mark, a bruise just beginning to form. Molly had spent enough time with Sherlock to have dramatically improved her skills of deduction, she started to consider potential connections. Had Moriarty drugged him, had he drugged himself? Molly knew he wore nicotine patches to 'help him think', had he taken that logic one step further?

Just as she was pondering possibilities Lestrade and Donovan strode in, "Is is true?" Lestrade asked, his voice raised, eyes darting, "Is he dead?" Hastily Molly covered the body with a sheet, he may be dead but he still deserved some dignity.

"Yes." She kept her voice calm, clinical."He jumped off the roof."

"The freak killed himself. I thought he was too arrogant, too self righteous to do something like that." said Donovan, her voice filling the silent room, not an ounce of concern, everyone knew she had hated Sherlock. "Maybe his 'brilliant' mind finally figured out that what he was doing was wrong. That kidnapping and murdering to show off is disgusting." Molly couldn't reply, she hadn't realised how quickly the rumour would spread. She remembered what Sherlock had said earlier, 'That's what you do when you sell a big lie, you wrap it up in the truth to make it more palatable.' He was right of course, as always, but she would never believe it. Molly knew he wouldn't do that, for all his flaws he wasn't evil, and she trusted him.

Lestrade and Donovan did not stay long, one look at the body was enough, they asked Molly to keep them informed and left.

Molly returned to Sherlock's body, as she pulled the sheet back down she was sure something had changed, but how could it have, he was dead. Looking closer she realised she was right. The bruise on his thigh had grown, it had been barely noticeable only moments ago but now it was darkening, obvious against his pale skin. This wasn't right, corpses didn't bruise. Had Sherlock managed to beat death? So far she had tried to avoid looking at his head, but now she stepped sideways and ran her fingertips over his bloody skull. Molly couldn't feel anything, no bump, no indent, no abnormality. Apart from the blood his head seemed fine.

Molly had to sit down again, it made no sense, he wasn't injured, yet he had no pulse. He'd fallen eight stories, yet had no broken bones, no visible wounds. It was impossible, scratch that, she though, this is Sherlock, nothing is impossible. Somehow he must have survived the fall and taken a drug, something that weakened his pulse and made him appear to be dead. But what?

A blood sample would solve it she reasoned. Molly reached for his arm to tie a tourniquet, it was still warm, a good sign that her suspicions were correct. Humming to herself she took the small vial of blood, she was hopeful. Quickly she hardened her expression, what would someone think if they entered and saw her so cheery while examining a corpse.

Waiting for the machine to process the results was agonising. Molly couldn't stay still, she had to be doing something. She walked back to Sherlock and gently started to wipe the blood from his head. If he was to wake up, and she still wasn't sure if he ever would, he wouldn't want to be covered in blood.

When the results were ready she rushed over to he computer to see.

Potassium, normal.

White blood cells, normal.

It was all normal bar one anomaly. Sherlock had a large amount of digitalis in his bloodstream, commonly found in foxgloves it had historically been used to fake death. She broke into a smile, he wasn't dead. Then Molly remembered, it had been used, that was important, no-one went near digitalis anymore, it was too dangerous, too easy to make fatal mistakes. Had Sherlock really risked taking it. As if to confirm her deductions, she heard a ragged breath from across the room.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N This is my first fanfiction, please read and review. All rights to Arthur Conan Doyle, Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss, all geniuses in my opinion. Please read and review...**

The Final Solution

Chapter 5

Molly dashed to Sherlock's side, holding her breath she waited for him to breathe again, to prove she hadn't imagined it. She kept waiting, then almost twenty seconds after the first breathe there was a second, deeper this time. She pulled a stool up to to the stretcher and sat there , just listening to him breath. Listening to him live.

Sherlock's breathing had slowly improved, now even and regular as it should be. Molly had checked all his other vitals.

Pulse – earlier seemingly non-existent, now strong and rhythmic.

Blood pressure – normal.

Everything was normal, now she just needed him to wake up. He had to tell her what to do next. He had obviously wanted everyone to think he was dead, he had jumped off a building and taken a near fatal dose of poison. But surely he'd want John to know he was alive, wouldn't he? Then Molly remembered the threats, would they still be in danger, she hadn't found out what had happened on the roof yet. Could she risk letting anyone know about the change in circumstances?

Sherlock would know what to do, she reasoned. She'd wait for him to regain consciousness and they could then work out a plan together. Deciding to be at least slightly proactive Molly wheeled Sherlock out of the morgue and into a side lab, now if anyone entered they wouldn't see him.

After locking the door she left to get a cup of tea, unsure of how long it would take for the digitalis to wear off. When Molly returned to the side lab she noticed that Sherlock's eyes were open, roaming his surroundings.

"Thank god." She spoke softly, knowing he would be disorientated. "I thought you were dead."

"Well as you can see, I'm not." He quickly retorted. His voice was slightly hoarse, but other that that he was back to his normal, arrogant self.

"How though," She had to know, "You fell eight floors and were covered in blood, you poisoned yourself. How the hell did you survive?"

Sherlock slowly sat up. "Surviving was the easy part, Molly scoffed quietly. He continued, "I realised I didn't have to die, I just had to be seen to jump. That was the hard part, convincing people I did die, all while trying my hardest not to."

"Sherlock you've lost me." Molly said. "Go back a step, how did you survive falling?"

"As I said it was simple, every day there is a lorry parked outside the hospital, there to take away all the used bedding. I jumped into that. Then all it took was a bag of blood and some digitalis to complete the illusion." He was grinning now, obviously expecting a compliment.

Molly took a few seconds to catch up. "Okay, so now you are on the floor, surely someone would have seen what you'd done."

"That dear Molly was precisely my problem. I knew John would have to see me die to believe it had really happened. So that's what I did, I made him believe that's what he saw." Sherlock paused upon seeing the confused look on Molly's face. "Do you read John's blog?" She nodded in confirmation. "Okay, after the case John so wittily named 'The Hounds of Baskerville' I stole a sample of the hallucinogenic drug they had been developing. Over the past few months I've been improving it, it works flawlessly now and is almost untraceable as I've made it colourless and odourless." He paused again, trying to work out how best to explain. "It makes the subjects open to extreme suggestion and disorientates them. It enhances their fears."

Sherlock spoke too quickly and Molly still didn't understand. "But how did that stop anyone noticing what you did?"

"It didn't entirely, I knew John would be the only one paying any attention, so it was only him I had to drug. I installed a pressure pad in the pavement by the taxi rank. Standing on that particular spot activated the release of the drug, in gas form, easy to inhale. The drug would only affect someone who stood in that precise spot for longer than thirty seconds." At this point Sherlock lowered his eyes before continuing. "I had to get him to stop where he was. I did the only thing I knew would work, I confessed, I apologised, I lied. As the drug started to take effect he got confused, that's when I told him that I was going to jump. Of course that frightened him, and that fear was the only stimulus the drug needed. By the time I jumped he must have been barely able to think straight, let alone see clearly." Looking back at molly, Sherlock finished his explanation. "With John incapacitated all I needed was a few well placed members of my homeless network and I was set."

Silence filled the small lab for a few moments. Finally Molly spoke. "Sherlock you could have died. What if you missed the lorry? What if if hadn't been there?" She sank to her knees, back against the door and attempted to hold back the sobs attempting to overcome her.

Sherlock didn't know what to do, he wasn't good with crying women. He wished he could ask John for advice, then he remembered that John didn't know he was alive. John couldn't know he was alive, not until Sherlock was sure he would be safe. Crouching beside Molly he tried to speak softly. "I knew there was a chance I wouldn't survive. I went up to the roof knowing I would jump off, bedding lorry there or not." His voice got slightly louder, more definite. "I wasn't going to let my friends die." This didn't help matters, if anything it made Molly more upset.

"Please Molly, calm down." Sherlock said. "Moriarty's dead, he did actually kill himself. I'm alive, this parts over."

After another few minutes Molly had regained her composure, wiping her eyes she eventually spoke again. "You promised me you would survive and then went up there knowing you might not." She was angry now, didn't he know what he'd put her through. "Don't I mean anything to you, didn't I deserve the truth?"

Sherlock was torn, he thought he;d done the right thing by not telling her the truth, he hadn't wanted her to worry. "Molly I'm sorry, honestly I am. You are important to me and right now I need your help. One last time."

Suddenly she stood up and moved as far away from his as possible. "Why should I help you again? Why should I trust you when you quite blatantly don't trust me?"

"I do trust you Molly." He replied. "That's why I am asking you to help, you are the only person I can ask." Sherlock waited, hoping molly would listen, wishing she didn't mean what she had said. For some reason he cared about what she thought about him.

After a long internal debate Molly finally answered him. "Fine, what do you need?"

Sherlock quickly explained and before long it was sorted, the paperwork had been falsified and there was another corpse in Sherlock's place.

Dressed back in his slightly bloody trousers and an only marginally cleaner lab coat, Sherlock turned to leave. "Thank you Molly." He said. "And again, I'm very sorry if I hurt you today." With that he pushed the door open.

"Wait!" Molly practically shouted. "Where are you going to go? The whole world thinks you're dead."

"I'm not sure, the streets probably. I'll try to keep a low profile until I can leave the country." Again Sherlock made to step out of the lab.

"Sherlock stop. You can't go out in public and think you won't be recognised, by tomorrow morning your face will be on the front page of every newspaper in the country." Molly took a few steps towards him. "You can stay with me, at least until this all dies down."

**Let me know in the reviews if you think I should continue this story. I'm not sure at the moment.**

**Thanks **

**x**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N This is my first fanfiction, please read and review. All rights to Arthur Conan Doyle, Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss, all geniuses in my opinion. Please read and review...**

The Final Solution

Chapter 6

"Molly, you don't have to let me stay with you." Sherlock was shocked, he had thought she wanted him gone as soon as possible. "I wasn't trying to trick you into offering my a room. I'll be..."

But she cut him off before he could finish. "Firstly it's not a room, it's a sofa and secondly, I know I don't have to. I don't have to do anything. I want to help you Sherlock, that's what friends do." Molly half expected him to correct her, say that they weren't friends, merely colleagues.

However Sherlock didn't, he was unsure of what to say to that. He would be lying if he said the offer didn't appeal to him. Molly didn't talk incessantly and was no longer nervous around him. Another thing that changed since Moriarty had got to her. Sherlock had a sudden desire to ask her about the affair, no that wasn't the right word, it wasn't some insignificant fling, Moriarty had used her callously. Her ordeal, he decided was better. Sherlock found himself wondering what Moriarty had done to her, he found he cared. This wasn't right, wasn't him. He mentally shook himself and tried to focus on the point at hand. Staying with Molly was definitely the best option.

"If you're sure Molly." He finally replied. "I'm sure your sofa will be adequate."

"Okay. I just need to finish up here and then we can go." Molly was suddenly regretting her offer. Her flat wasn't big enough for two people, and could she really cope being in such close proximity to Sherlock all the time. At least she would have work, she would have a chance to escape from him for at least part of the day. It had been a snap decision when she had originally offered, she couldn't let him stay on the streets.

"I'll just wait here then." Sherlock lowered himself into the large, black office chair, immediately turning to the computer screen.

Molly left him to it, she had to ring Lestrade, inform him of the results from the 'autopsy' she had performed on Sherlock's body. She quickly found his number and left the room before hitting dial.

"Hello?" He answered after only three, short rings.

"Lestrade, it's Molly Hooper, from St Bart's." Molly spoke tentatively, not letting her voice give her away. "I've got the results from the autopsy."

"Really? I hadn't expected them back so soon." He paused for a second, his voice breaking slightly as he spoke again. "Thank you Dr Hooper, it must have been hard for you."

"Just another body, at least that's what I told myself." As she was speaking she silently retrieved the folder containing the paperwork she and Sherlock had completed earlier. "Really Greg, it was quite a simple job." Molly consulted the notes, she had to get her story straight. "He had a complex skull fracture, from hitting the pavement. This severed his carotid artery causing him to lose massive amounts of blood. Even if they could have controlled the bleeding he would have had major brain damage. There were other injuries too, broken bones included, but he died from the blood loss. His body completely shut down.

Neither of them spoke for a while. Molly thought Greg was probably still taking in the facts.

"So he jumped then?" Greg sounded upset, maybe shocked by the details he had just heard.

"That's what all the evidence points to, there are no signs of a struggle." Molly took a deep breath, steeling herself for what she was about to say. "You knew him too Greg, he admitted he was a sociopath. Maybe he was more mentally unstable than we realised. We don't have a clue what went on in that brain of his, no-one did."

Lestrade quickly countered her argument. "But he never would have done this, surely we would have noticed if he suicidal."

"Admit it Greg, we knew almost nothing about Sherlock, only a few facts he allowed us to know."

"It was my fault, I took the police to his flat." Greg was rambling now, obviously looking for an explanation. "I turned him into a fugitive. It's because of my that he's dead."

At that point Molly wished Sherlock could hear the conversation she was having with the inspector. She wanted him to know what he had done to the people that cared for him, wanted him to know how much they cared for him. However she knew that wouldn't change anything, he would stick to his plan. Sherlock wouldn't let such an inconsequential thing as feelings get in the way.

Molly felt so guilty, one small admission of the truth from her and Lestrade wouldn't be feeling this way. But she knew she couldn't. "It wasn't your fault Greg, you were under orders. If Sherlock had wanted to he could have 'come quietly', he didn't have to put a gun to John's head."

"Wait, how did you know about that Molly? Did you speak to Sherlock before he..." Lestrade's voice tapered off, unable to finish his sentence.

"No." Molly quickly backtracked, she was so stupid, her she was talking about things she shouldn't no about, to a Detective Inspector no less. "I, I spoke to John earlier, before it happened, he was looking for Sherlock and we had a chat." Hopefully Greg would believe her, think like everyone else that Sherlock wouldn't have bothered to stop and speak to her.

Molly abruptly changed the subject. "Have you found out it the rumours are true, did Sherlock invent Moriarty?"

"I probably shouldn't tell you Molly, it's still a police investigation."

"Please Greg, I have to know if he was who I thought he was." Really she had to know what the police knew so she could report back to Sherlock later.

"Okay, here's what we know so far." Lestrade took a deep breath." There is a lot of evidence claiming that Richard Brook exists, but it's relatively easy to fake documents and photos. I trusted Sherlock, but I was one of few, there are many within Scotland Yard looking for evidence to prove he abducted those children. At least there were." He had hesitated again. "Sherlock killing himself was as good as a confession."

"Thank you Greg." Molly was sincere, this information would useful to both her and to the detective currently shut up in her lab.

"There's one more thing." Lestrade spoke quietly, afraid of being overheard. "You can't tell anyone this Molly, the media can't find out. A body was found on the roof, it was Moriarty's, or Richard Brook's, depending on who you believe. He'd shot himself, ballistics have confirmed the injury could only have been self inflicted. We're still investigating and probably will be for a while. What we really need is Sherlock's help, but obviously that's impossible."

"Obviously." Echoed Molly darkly. "Good luck inspector. I'm sorry but I really need to go, paperwork beckons." She hung up promptly not wanting to hear the grief evident in Greg's voice for any longer than absolutely necessary.

While filing the remaining paperwork she thought about the conversation she had just had. The police didn't suspect Sherlock was alive and hopefully no-one else did either.

The filing didn't take long and soon she returned to the side lab. It didn't appear that Sherlock had moved since she had left. Glancing towards the screen Molly could see his was looking at the news, probably scanning it for any mention of his name.

He must have heard he enter, but he didn't turn around. "I'm done." She said to his back. "We can go now."

Sherlock abruptly exited out of the website he had been skimming through and stood up. "Perfect, let's go." With that he strode out of the small room.

* * *

><p>It took nearly an hour to get back to Molly's flat, it was normally a ten minute walk. However Sherlock had insisted they take a convoluted route using fire escapes and multiple side alleys. Molly knew he had every right to be so cautious, Sherlock couldn't afford to be seen.<p>

Molly quietly let them into her flat, she didn't want to disturb the elderly couple that lived above her. She stepped through and moved to the side to let Sherlock in.

As Sherlock glided into the flat his brain began to whirr. His eyes glance to every corner of the kitchen/living room, noticing and noting everything of any significance. He had almost instantly deduced it was a one bedroom flat, other that the door they had entered through there was only one other. Access to the bathroom must therefore be through the bedroom. There was not table in the room, only a small breakfast bad with two stools, one however was covered in papers indicating she rarely had company. The deductions kept coming, last night she had watched a film, rom-com he suspected. She had eaten risotto while sitting on the sofa and had drunk two glasses of white wine.

Molly closed the door behind him, knowing he would be analysing every detail of he small flat. She wished she had had the forethought to tidy up, but when would she ever have guessed that this could have happened to her. In less than the five hours she had effectively helped someone fake their own death and was now flatmates with Sherlock Holmes.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door, Molly's eyes flashed to it and then looked quickly back to Sherlock, He dashed away, darting into her bedroom and hastily shutting the door behind him.

Nervously she turned around and slowly opened the door she had only just shut. John Watson was standing outside, eyes rimmed with red.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N This is my first fanfiction, please read and review. All rights to Arthur Conan Doyle, Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss, all geniuses in my opinion. Thanks to MissLAnon, T. N. Weston, eccentricpetal, loulouflowerpower, Murmeltierchen, Sykes Macabre and kewell chick for reviewing. Please read, enjoy and review...**

The Final Solution

Chapter 7

Molly quickly pulled John into a tight hug. He clung to her, openly sobbing now. A minute passed and he was still gripping to her, no apparent intention of stopping. Slowly she led him into her flat, sitting them both down on the sofa.

She waited patiently, rubbing soothing concentric circles on his back. Molly couldn't imagine what John was going through, he'd watched his best friend die. Of course he would be devastated. In the back of her mind she hoped Sherlock wouldn't make any noise, she wasn't sure she would be able to lie to John when he was this upset.

Eventually the sobbing subsided and John looked up at her, his eyed bloodshot. "Thank you Molly." His voice was husky. "I'm sorry, I just couldn't hold it together any longer."

"That's okay John." Molly spoke softly, not wanting to distress him anymore. "I'm here any time John, any time you want to talk, I'm here."

"Molly, can I stay here for a while, just a few hours." He looked down at his knee as he continued. "I don't think I can face Baker Street alone, not so soon."

"Of course John." She answered immediately, momentarily forgetting who was currently hidden in her bedroom. Molly almost laughed at that, Sherlock Holmes was hidden in her bedroom, she wasn't sure if he'd ever been in a girl's bedroom before. But she didn't laugh, it wasn't appropriate. Instead she looked at John, Molly could see the tear tracks that stained his cheeks.

Molly didn't know what to say, what to do. She finally decided. "Would you like a cup of tea?" She asked John, he only nodded in reply, he was now staring at the floor. Gently Molly extricated herself from John's arms and walked over to the kettle.

As the two mugs of tea stewed Molly found herself watching John, she knew he was barely holding it together. He was breathing deeply, probably focussing on the small, yet important, action to keep himself in one piece.

Molly returned to the sofa with the two mugs, she carefully handed one to John and then resumed her place next to him. He gripped the mug with two hands and slowly sipped from it.

They had both almost finished their tea before either of the them spoke. It was John that broke the silence. "I don't understand why he did it Molly. I saw it happen, but still I don't know." He was on the verge of tears again. "Why would he kill himself. Even if he did all those awful things, did he have to die?"

At that moment Molly almost told him the truth, she wanted to lead him to he room and reunite the two friends. Briefly she wondered if John would ever forgive her, if he ever did find out the truth. Would he hate her for lying to him?

The lack of reply didn't hinder John's questions. "Why didn't he ask me for help? Why didn't I help him when I saw him fall? I was so confused, so scared." Shame coloured his face. "I wanted to run away, leaving him to die. I'm a doctor, I should have helped."

Molly had to interrupt, she wouldn't let John beat himself up over this. "It wasn't your fault John, there was nothing you could have done. He died on impact, there was no chance of survival." She took the mug from his hands and placed both of them on the floor, carefully she took his hands in her own. "Trust me John, there was nothing you could have done."

John initiated the hug this time, holding her tightly as the sobs reclaimed him. Molly felt ill, she couldn't believe the blatant lies she had just told. They pricked at her conscience, reminding her of what she was helping put John through. It wasn't directly her fault, but she wasn't stopping it either, she was as much to blame as Sherlock.

Slowly John's sobs began to cease, before Molly realised it he had fallen asleep, arms still around her. Suddenly she noticed how tired she was, it had been the longest day of her life and it still wasn't over. She still had to deal with Sherlock. Cautiously she lowered John, so he was now lying on the sofa. Wary of waking him she gently covered him with the afghan that was slung across the back of it.

Molly crept to her bedroom and quietly opened the door, she backed into the room and closed the door, barely making a sound. She turned to face Sherlock, he was sitting on the end of her bed, staring at her intensely.

She felt uncomfortable and self conscious, she hadn't let a man into her flat, let alone her bedroom, since Moriarty. Since then Molly had like to keep her life private, the less someone knew, the less they could hurt her. She was adamant of that.

"What are we going to do?" She whispered and took a few steps towards Sherlock, sitting down next to him.

"Well obviously I can't leave this room until he goes." Sherlock turned and surveyed the room, he had been mentally discussing options since John had arrived. He looked back at Molly, she was looking at the floor, hands fidgeting nervously. "Molly would it be alright if I slept in here. I know it's a lot to ask, but it's the only option." She had met his gaze by now. "I know it will be uncomfortable for you but..."

She cut him off. "How do you know that?" Sherlock just looked at her, a slightly patronising expression crossed his face. "Right, you're Sherlock Holmes, you know everything." Molly thought about his suggestion for a few seconds then stood up, turning away from him.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked.

"Getting you a shirt, if you are going to sleep in my bed, you are not going to be wearing that lab coat." She knelt down and started looking through a drawer. "I'm sure I've got some an old boyfriend left behind."

Sherlock felt like grinning, he was abnormally happy and didn't know why. Then he remembered, Moriarty could have been here, in Molly's flat, in her bed. "Moriarty's?"

"No." Molly's hands stilled momentarily, she refused to let herself think about the brief relationship she'd had with Jim. "I burnt all his stuff ages ago." She finally passed him an appropriate shirt. "You can get changed in the bathroom while I sort some things in here."

* * *

><p>Soon they were standing either side of Molly's bed, Sherlock in a shirt, just long enough to cover what he was wearing underneath and Molly in a vest top and pyjama bottoms. The awkward silence stretched on, eventually Molly broke it. "Well I'm shattered so lets get this over with."<p>

Silently they both got into the double bed, each of them hyper aware of the other. They ended up both lying on there backs, at least of foot of bed between them.

Neither said another word and Molly slowly drifted to sleep. Sherlock however was not remotely tired, his mind was so busy thinking that he knew he wouldn't get to sleep, not anytime soon anyway.

His thoughts flickered briefly to John, asleep in the next room, his best friend thought he was dead. Sherlock knew he was protecting John, and Mrs Hudson, and Lestrade, but he hadn't realised how much it would hurt all parties involved.

He slowly sat up in the bed, his back against the headboard. Looking down at Molly he saw the peaceful expression on her face, it was the first time that day she had looked calm. Gently he lifted his hand towards her face and barely making any contact, softly ran his fingertips down her cheek. Molly Hooper intrigued him. She made him feel things he hadn't felt before. She made him calm. With that realisation he lay back down. His eyes fixed on Molly, Sherlock gradually fell asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N This is my first fanfiction, please read and review. All rights to Arthur Conan Doyle, Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss, all geniuses in my opinion. This is a bit of a filler chapter. Please read, enjoy and review...**

The Final Solution

Chapter 8

Sherlock awoke slowly, as he began to become aware he registered something out of place beneath his right arm. The previous days activities came flooding back to him. The search, Moriarty, coming back to Molly's, John. Sherlock felt a stab of guilt when he thought of John, he could almost hear the racking sobs John had been making the previous night. Sherlock was still unsure as to what was under his arm, he cracked open his eyes. He almost gasped, he had been sleeping with his arm comfortably resting over Molly's stomach.

Gently Sherlock started to move his arm off of the still sleeping Molly, however as he began Molly murmured in her sleep, her eyelids fluttering. Sherlock abruptly stopped his attempt, he wanted to let Molly rest. It was after all his fault she was so exhausted.

Sherlock waited patiently, watching her sleep. She looked so different asleep he thought, so peaceful and innocent.

Abruptly the peace was disturbed by the sound of footsteps from the other room, John had just awoken. Sherlock knew he had seconds to act, he roughly shook Molly awake and leapt off the bed.

Molly was bleary eyed. "Sherlock, what's going..." In another stride Sherlock was back on the bed, leaning over Molly, his finger to her lips.

"Ssh." He whispered. He was almost out of time, a one word explanation would have to do. "John." With that he dove under the bed, curling slightly so al of his tall frame was hidden.

Molly also jumped out of the bed, her brain having reminded her of the situation, glancing down at the floor, she checked she could see neither hide nor hair of Sherlock. She pulled the door open , revealing John Watson with his hand raised pre-knock.

"Good Morning John." Molly knew her attempt at a calm façade was futile, hopefully John would put it down to grief. "I hope you are feeling a bit better."

"I am." John's voice was croaky, his hair ruffled as if his sleep had been fitful, thinking about it, it probably was. "Thank you for letting me stay Molly. You didn't have to."

"I know I didn't have to, I wanted to." Molly thought back to the day before, to an almost identical conversation. Letting John stay the night was nowhere near as trying as what Sherlock had asked her. "Would you like some breakfast?" She needed to get him to leave her room, he was close to discovering the secret she had promised to keep.

"No thanks. I was just going to thank you and then I'd better go." The half smile that he had had abruptly vanished. "I need to go back to Baker Street, start arranging things."

Internally Molly let out a sigh of relief. "If you're sure John." She walked him towards the door to her flat, shutting her bedroom door as she stepped through it. "Remember if you need anything, anything at all, call me."

After expressing his thanks yet again, John left. Molly hurried back to her bedroom. Sherlock was back on the bed.

"That was too close." He stated.

"I couldn't just insist he go home." Molly's voice was raised, the words that went unsaid the previous night now being shouted across the small room. "It's your fault he was so upset, you broke him Sherlock, so don't blame me."

"I wasn't" Sherlock's voice calmer. "I was just stating a fact, I thought that's what you're meant to do, make conversation." John had always told him that talking made people feel more relaxed.

"Ugh." Molly was reaching breaking point, he was so obnoxious. Could he really understand so little about social situation. "You're, you're incorrigible." She stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door.

Sherlock was bemused, he would never have guessed that Molly Hooped could be so passionate, she had always been so sweet and endearing. He heard the shower turn on. Picking up his trousers he slid them back on and left the room. He needed coffee.

* * *

><p>Molly stood under the steaming flow of water and tried to calm down., they had both been put in an impossible situation, she couldn't truly blame him. She had always known he wasn't a 'people person', Molly had never thought he would be easy to live with.<p>

As the pounding water relaxed her shoulders she managed to let some of her anger go, maybe she had overreacted. Molly was tired, she had not slept well, her dreams had been filled with images of both Sherlock's dead body lying on a slab and John's face soaked with tears. Molly started to sob, her tears mixing with the flow of water, she didn't know what to do. Whatever choice she made someone would get hurt. She quickly shoved those thoughts to the back of her mind and concentrated on washing her hair. Dwelling on her decision wouldn't help, she had made her choice and she was going to stick to it.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile Sherlock was standing in the kitchen trying to work out how to make a coffee, he had never had to before, there had always been someone else around , willing to do it for him. It couldn't be that hard he thought, even the most simple of people manage it.<p>

Sherlock carefully filled the kettle and removed it to it's base. As he continued these basic activities his mind wandered, he needed to continue his plan, he couldn't stay here forever. What were his other options though?

He couldn't leave the country, he had to keep John and the others safe , even if it was from a distance.

He could go to Mycroft and ask for help, that idea didn't appeal to him though, no matter how high up in the government Mycroft got, he would always be just a spiteful, older brother to Sherlock.

The streets. He could utilise his homeless network again. There were some serious downsides to this, he would end up cold and hungry. He also wouldn't have access to anything, at least here he could persuade Molly to let him use her laptop. Also if he left he wouldn't be able to talk to Molly, something he found surprisingly enjoyable.

That settled it for him, he would stay here with Molly for as long as she would have him.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N This is my first fanfiction, please read and review. All rights to Arthur Conan Doyle, Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss, all geniuses in my opinion. Please read, enjoy and review...**

The Final Solution

Chapter 9

The next few days fell into a strange sort of pattern for Sherlock and Molly. After the argument on the first morning neither spoke much, they lived in an uncomfortable silence. Molly had returned to work, grateful for the opportunity to leave her flat. She didn't know what Sherlock did while she was out, and often found herself wondering what he had found to occupy him.

Currently Sherlock was sitting near the entrance to St Bart's waiting for Molly's shift to finish. Ever since Molly had bought him the second hand clothes he had been following her to work. Sherlock had disguised himself as one of the huge network of homeless people found in the city. He had long since known that hiding in plain sight was the best option. Most people refused to even acknowledge the homeless, let alone look at him long enough to realise who he really was.

Sherlock was unsure why he felt compelled to protect Molly, he had noticed it when she had first left the flat. He had suddenly begun imagining hundreds of possible scenarios where she got hurt, at that point he knew he would never allow it.

Sherlock saw Molly's hooded form leave the building, she was securely wrapped up against the wind. Sherlock trailed her, about one hundred metres behind, as she walked slowly towards her home he kept his eyes peeled for any sort of danger, no matter how small. When she was a minute from her flat he ducked down a side alley, ensuring he would beat her back.

* * *

><p>As Molly entered the warmth of her flat she noticed Sherlock hunched over the breakfast bar.<p>

Sherlock turned towards her. "Why do you read this drivel?" He asked, gesturing to the book he had just been reading.

Molly walked over to him and picked up the paperback. "Sherlock this is Pride and Prejudice. It's a classic." He just shrugged at her. "How can you dismiss it like that, it's an epic love story. It's the love story."

"Why should I care about Elizabeth Bennett and Mr Darcy?" He countered. "I don't know them, they're of no importance to me."

"This is pointless." Molly sighed, there was no point arguing with him. "I have to go and change, it starts at two."

"Molly don't go." His voice was determined.

"I have to Sherlock, it's your funeral." She looked towards him, he didn't meet her gaze. "I can't just not be there."

"But I'm not dead, you know that so why do you need to go?" Sherlock didn't want her to leave again, she had only just got back from work.

"I told John I'd go, so I'm going." Molly was annoyed, it was her decision, not Sherlock's. "That's final." She quickly exited to he bedroom and started to change. Sherlock had a point, was it appropriate for her to go when she knew the truth. Sod it, she thought, she had to go to support John. Secretly she was also worried that not many people would turn up, Sherlock didn't do friends.

* * *

><p>As Molly approached the cemetery she pulled her coat tight around her, the weather was worsening, threatening dark clouds communing overhead. The body in Sherlock's place had already been cremated, today the ashes were being spread and a headstone placed. Sherlock really had thought of everything, with no body buried, no-one could dig it up and show it wasn't him. The morbidity of the whole situation sent a shiver down her spine.<p>

The funeral was a solemn affair, there were only a few people there. John and his sister, Harriet Molly thought, John's eyes were red and tears were silently streaming from them. Mrs Hudson stood near them, sobbing quietly into a handkerchief.

Molly stood with Greg, who was barely holding back the tears. The only other person in attendance, bar the reverend, was a tall, dark haired woman. Molly asked Lestrade who it was.

"Anthea." He replied. "She's Mycroft's assistant, Mycroft's Sherlock's brother."

"Sherlock had a brother?" Molly asked, ensuring she spoke in the past tense.

Lestrade nodded. "His only family. Mycroft works for the government, pretty high up, or so I'm told."

Molly turned and walked towards John, ready to offer him her condolences. As she went she pondered the bond between the brothers. How little must Mycroft care if he only sent a representative to a funeral for his own brother.

* * *

><p>Sherlock watched, from the sidelines of the graveyard, as the small group left the chapel to proceed to the headstone. He was not surprised by his brother's absence, Mycroft rarely did things for himself.<p>

After a short time all of them, but John, left the headstone. Sherlock flitted nearer, he wanted to hear what John was saying. It was meant for him, even if John thought he was talking only to a headstone.

Hidden behind a tree, Sherlock could just make out what John was saying. "Please, there's just one more thing, one more miracle Sherlock, for me." John's speech was slow, punctuated by sobs and sniffs. "Don't be dead. Would you do that, just for me, just stop it, stop this." Sherlock wished he could leave his hiding place and greet his friend, he hated that he was making John feel this way. Molly was right, he had broken his best friend.

Suddenly approaching footsteps broke the silence, Sherlock turned abruptly, pulling his hat down to cover his face.

"Sherlock, it's me." Molly spoke quietly, emerging from the shadows. "I can't believe you risked coming here, what if you'd been seen?"

Still shocked by John's admission, Sherlock struggled to find the words. "I had to..." he managed before Molly cut across him.

"Had to make sure John was alright, I know." Molly finished for him. Sherlock wanted to correct her, that wasn't the only reason. He had also come to make sure she was safe, protected. "You're not that subtle you know, I spotted you easily, you need to be more careful."

They both turned and looked towards the headstone that John had just left. It was surreal, Sherlock thought, to look at a sign indicating your death, while still being very much alive.

As they stood there in silence Sherlock gently reached towards Molly's hand, carefully he interlocked their fingers. He needed to know that she was there with him, for once in his life he didn't want to be alone.

Together they waited until it was safe for them to leave. Together, a united front.


End file.
